


Nuzzle

by Watergirl1968



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood, Dragon Riders, Dragons, M/M, Mild Gore, Sexual Content, erejearmin - Freeform, ovaposition (egg laying)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nine Realms are governed by the Dragon Lords; beasts of uncommon wisdom and judgement. Together with their human allies, the Dragons work to keep the Nine Realms safe from disease-bearing Baath invaders.</p>
<p>Armin Arlert is a clerc in the Cloister of Dragon Eyrie. He has the Lord Commander's trust, all the books he could ever want, three lovely meals a day (four if tea is included), and two beautiful Dragonrider hearth mates, Eren and Jean.</p>
<p>But Armin's orderly world is shattered when he finds himself alone and frightened, and trying to birth a dragon egg that he has no business carrying in his belly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking at the tags mandated for an event, and one of them was #ovaposition (egg laying). I had literally never heard of this. I gave it a think and the next day...well, this AU happened. For my good pal underneath_the_africanskies who brainstormed this with me. Enjoy!

In a cramped little room in a Bolenstown tavern, a young man hunched on a straw mattress, writhing in pain.

Sounds from the throng below permeated the stout wooden door; swells of drunken laughter, the smashing of bottles, the strains of the tavern singer.

A spasm gripped the youth's delicate frame. His fine features contorted, round blue eyes screwing shut against the twisting fire in his belly.

He fisted the coarse wool bedcover, body slick with sweat beneath the clerc's habit that he wore.

"I can't breathe," he panted, "It's so hot!"

He thrashed out of the grey wool robe, bunching it at his head, and rolled over.

In sharp contrast to his slender arms and legs, his belly was hideously distended, an egg-shape the size of a melon pulsing and worming beneath the skin.

_"Armin."_

He heard the voice within his skull, and in his bones.

_"Armin, this won't do, lad."_

"It'll do," Armin Arlert hissed, through teeth gritted in pain. "No one...no one will hear me, not through that racket downstairs."

This was likely true, and a fortunate thing, as the egg-shape seemed to ebb and move, causing Armin to cry out, curling up, and then slipping off of the bed to squat on the floor, his head pressed against the dirty mattress.

"I can," he said, "it'll be fine...women have been having babies since the dawn of time..."

 _"You aren't having a baby, lad."_ The voice was deep, layered and warm, like a favourite sweater, _"you're shitting a dragon egg."_

Hearing it said, in such practical terms, caused Armin a painful hiccup of laughter.

_"Armin, we need some proper help, lad. Please."_

Armin Arlert, all of seventeen years old and a clerc in Queen Historia's Eyrie, wound a protective forearm around the egg in his gut.

"I can do it," he told the egg. "Eren did it. He birthed Mikasa. Mikasa, the black dragon....f-fastest and strongest dragon in the Nine Realms."

_"Eren? Eren passed his dragon's egg, in the eyrie, aided by the elders and covered in froth. Armin, it can't be done without froth. You'll do yourself horrible injury."_

The blue eyes opened in the darkness, small face set bravely.

"I can't go back to the Eyrie," he shook his head. "Not after what I've done...the Queen will blame Eren, or Jean. They'll be put to death, and their dragons banished."

 _"See the future now, can we?"_ the voice chuckled.

Armin trembled, turning his head on the bed. At the thought of his two hearth mates, tears finally came. They were the most bitter tears he'd ever shed, hot and ashamed.

"I would die before I let anything happen to Eren, or to Jean," he said softly.

_"Well, I'm not about to let you shit yourself to death in a dirty little room in Bolenstown. I won't have it. I will dissolve myself before I see that happen."_

Armin sat down on the floor, gripping the egg inside of his abdomen with both hands, rocking back and forth.

"No," he cried out, "No, you can do that! You're going to be a Dragon Lord! And I am just a clerc. I may not amount to much, but I'm _laying_ this egg, _your_ egg, right here in Bolen's Tavern!"

He said it with as much bravado as he could muster; in actual fact, he was petrified. He knew it, and the disembodied voice, the spirit of his unborn dragon, knew it as well.

__________

ONE YEAR EARLIER

"Moon's full," Jean had commented at the supper table, tearing off a hunk of sourdough bread and sopping up his stew. "It's full tonight Armin, right?"

"Mmm," Armin didn't look up from his scroll.

"Does 'mmm' mean 'yes'?" Eren teased.

The interruptions were annoying Armin.

"Yes," he bit off. "Mmm is yes! It's a full moon. And I have to read all of this and go up to brief Lord Commander Erwin right after supper." he said testily.

Jean Kirschstein's eyes danced. He kicked his fellow Dragonrider, Eren, under the table.

"Sorry," Jean jostled Armin's shoulder. "The stew's very good, Armin."

"Thank you," Armin replied, softening. "Mikasa and I went mushrooming today."

When his hearth mates offered no response, Armin looked up.

Jean's amber eyes were locked onto Eren's, softly. Jean smiled at Eren. Not his trademark smirk, but a warm, gentle smile. "Full moon," he repeated again, regarding their dark-haired hearth mate.

Armin froze, eyes flicking with interest from one to the other. His belly clutched. Perceptive and intuitive, he understood in that moment, that something had passed between the two older boys, both eighteen and wearing the metal armband of manhood.

Something tender and intense and silent. Something that he, at sixteen, was not a part of.

His mouth flattened into a thin line, cheeks flushing, blood pounding in his ears.

__________

_Jean's egg had come first. He'd been training in combat since the age of twelve, and at fourteen, he'd been showered in the froth of dragons, and the froth had ignited the spore living inside of his large intestine._

_Immature and without fortitude, Jean had bellowed fearfully throughout the night, even though his passage was stretched and massaged with froth, to ease the passing of the egg. He'd been attended by the healers, who'd coached and comforted him._

_Nile of Eborlon, the great green dragon, had thus been brought into the world of man._

_Jean had been no better at hatching his egg once it arrived; he sniffled and complained about his confinement to the nest, his sore arse, his lack of sleep and his headaches._

_The tale he himself told about the event years later was embellished of course; he painted himself as a fierce passer of the egg, a fledgeling warrior._

_At eighteen, Jean Kirschstein stood half-a-head taller than most; he was indeed fierce in combat, calculating and over time he had learned the value of teamwork. This hadn't extinguished his pride, nor his propensity for loud exaggeration._

_Nile the Green, the sleek, sinuous Dragon Lord of Trost was no more inclined to humility than his rider. He was a gorgeous dragon; pure summer green, with a citrine crest and wings._

_'More lizard than mammoth,' the veteran Dragonriders ventured._

____________

_A year after that, on a snowy winter night, gritty, driven trainee Eren Jaeger had birthed Mikasa. The world was calm, softened by the snowfall that had battered the Eyrie for three days._

_Armin had attended the birth. One clerc was allowed into the birthing chamber, to record the birth of each dragon born into the colony._

_Eren had made himself a nest of birthing pillows and sat upright, a sheen of sweat dampening his tawny skin, eyes burning with pain, and smiling._

_There were candles lit in the chamber, and a smudge lamp of lavender and apple blossom hung in the air._

_It had been Hange the Red, Dragon Lord of the Reach, that had stuck their ruby head in through a window, lacing the young warrior with froth. The attending healers had rubbed the froth into Eren's skin, turning him over, slathering his backside gently._

_An hour later, Eren's egg had worked itself into his lower belly._

_"Look," he'd said to Armin, pinching the skin of his belly. He'd pulled the elasticized skin several inches, watching it ooze back into position. "I'm made of butter!"_

_Armin's eyes were huge in his face, watching Eren move onto his knees, froth glittering on his skin like hoarfrost, face intent and reverent._

_"She's on her way," Eren had gasped._

_Eren's entire body had convulsed, like a boa disgorging a field pig, and then, with a shout of triumph, he'd passed the egg._

_He'd burst into tears then, and so had Armin. Forgetting his station, Armin had rushed forward, throwing his arms around Eren's neck._

_Eren had been moved to a chamber, high in the eyrie. There, on a large, loose nest of pelts, goose down pallets and straw, he'd lain naked, curled around the blue egg to ensure she hatched._

_The other Dragonriders stopped by to peer curiously at the egg, to bring Eren meals, and flasks of liquor._

_It hadn't taken long. One evening, As Armin read aloud to his oldest friend, perched on the edge of the nest, the egg had begun to rock, and then to crack._

_"Armin!" Eren had cried, "Armin, she's hatching!"_

_Armin had found himself in the nest as well, the egg cradled between himself and Eren, as Eren spoke to the emerging dragon._

_"Come on out...we're right here! We're your family!"_

_She'd been black as night, sleek as a baby crow, and her grey eyes had lids the colour of new lavender._

_"Mikasa," Eren had wept, "Mikasa, Lady of Shiganshina!" He'd taken his red scarf, wrapping it carefully around the trembling hatchling._

_She'd opened her mouth, honking softly, eyes whirling. She saw Eren first, and then Armin. Her family._

_Before her birth, her spirit had spoken to Eren, her tone pure and low._

_"I will be strong for you, Eren Jaeger. The strongest dragon in the Eyrie. For you and for Shiganshina."_

__________

Armin chewed on a piece of mutton thoughtfully, watching his hearth mates. Eren finally broke eye contact with Jean, looking down at the table, dark lashes sweeping his cheeks. Jean scraped back his chair, leaning back and lighting a stick of dragonweed. The herb was a digestive, and filled the room with a warm vanilla scent.

"So," Armin raised an eyebrow, "any plans for the evening?"

"Huh?" Jean looked at him. "Nah, just the mud wallow."

"Mud wallow," Eren repeated.

"Sounds....exciting," Armin rose, rolling the scroll and sticking it into the pocket of his robe. He suddenly felt silly and frumpy in the clerc's robe, alongside Eren and Jean in their riding leathers.

"I'm off to see the High Commander now," he said archly.

"Give him a scratch for me," Jean called after him.

__________

Armin knelt in the great, vaulted dome that topped the Eyrie. The dome was one of the wonders of the Nine Realms, depicting the great Dragon Lord Angelus driving the Baath vermin into the sea.

Queen Historia was descended in an unbroken line from Angelus. She sat upon a dais, her silver-white coat gleaming in the starlight; pale blue wings folded.

To her right crouched the Lord Commander, a great, golden beast, protector of the Nine Realms, no less imposing for the absence of his front right arm, torn off during the Baath War.

"Rise," the Queen's voice sparkled softly. "How are you, Armin Arlert?"

"I am well, my Queen. I have news from the Reach for the Lord Commander."

Erwin shifted his majestic head, swinging it down to regard the diminutive clerc. As he did so, a lithe figure slid off of his neck, landing soundlessly.

"Good evening Levi," Armin nodded politely.

"Let me see." Levi reached for the scroll without preamble.

Armin exhaled. He'd read the contents of the message, and he had a good idea how to proceed. He stood up a little taller. He was in the presence of draconic royalty, and the black rider, and they all waited patiently for his opinion.

Eren and Jean could go and have their mud wallow.

__________

After the High Commander had dismissed him, Armin found himself, literally, at a crossroads. He ambled along the dirt road that led down from the stone bridge linking the Eyrie to the mainland. To his left, Bolenstown and the chance of a small cream ale before bed. To his right, the road angled down, toward the riverbank, and the mud wallow that the dragons enjoyed in summer.

The river that bisected the Queen's realm was wide and deep, and forked at the site of the Eyrie. The Eyrie, a mountain of red rock hewn by wind and time, rose above the river's fork like a giant flatiron. Chambers were hollowed out, high in the stone walls. Perfect, round holes which were faced with steel panels that rolled open and closed. The magnificent mosaic dome that topped the Eyrie was one of the wonders of the Nine Realms.

At the base of the great rock formation, a verdant floodplain was home to the castle and keep that serviced the Eyrie. Within was the Cloister, seat of learning and the Croft, which schooled tradesmen.

Armin Arlert was a clerc. It was his job to study, and to apply his learning in practical ways, to advise the Dragon Lords and to support the Eyrie as needed. It was a noble calling, and Armin was the keenest, brightest mind in the Cloister.

Armin knew why he hadn't been invited to the mud wallow. The danger of getting splashed with froth was too great. Froth could be a source of great pleasure, like a drug. It could ease the most terrible pain. It could also burn a human being to death, if one didn't carry a spore.

Unless and until it was verified that one carried dragon spore, froth was to be avoided. One oldtimer, a toothless old man in Bolenstown told tale of getting too close to Rud the Incorrigible, inhaling the dragon's froth and then having every tooth in his head disintegrate into powder.

Primarily for this reason, the Eyrie had strict rules about dragon and human contact.

One of those rules would have expressly forbidden curious and jealous young clercs from sneaking into mud wallows.

"I'm not a child," Armin grumbled to no one in particular. "I am an advisor to the High Commander. I know nearly every text in the Cloister. I can draw a map of the Nine Realms from memory. I've got hair on my chin and get just as stiff as the next lad!" And with that, he doused his lantern, and crept to the edge of the clearing where a bright fire crackled and popped.

Sadly, intelligence and common sense are not one and the same, and thus Armin found himself crouching at the edge of the mud wallow that warm summer night, spying on Eren and Jean.

The two Dragonriders had built themselves a fire, and sat before it on a couple of stumps, passing a flask back and forth.

"Nice for some," Armin groused to himself.

At the edge of the clearing, Nile of Eberlon rolled in the wet mud, his heavy body whooshing and squelching. He groaned with pleasure as the cool mud seeped beneath his scales. On the opposite bank of the river, Mikasa preened in the darkness, having finished her bath and wanting nothing to do with Nile. The full moon caught the sheen of her scales, her silhouette ablaze.

Armin swallowed. Her beauty stole his breath, and he felt sure that she'd catch him. He was about to turn away, when Mikasa flapped her wings, taking to the air.

Nile slid into the river, disappearing with a hiss. Then, he shot out of the water, launching himself into the sky with a roar of laughter at his own prowess.

Jean and Eren rose, craning to see their dragons, tore off their leathers, shirts and leggings, tossed aside their boots and plunged into the cold river for a swim.

 _I should leave. I should just...go. Now._ But Armin remained rooted to the spot.

Jean trotted back up the bank, ghostly pale in the moonlight. He ran around the clearing, waving his arms, his excitement bolstered by the hot brandy in his belly. Eren joined him, dancing around the fire.

Then, a shape blocked out the moonlight, and Mikasa dove down smoothly, opening her mouth and lacing the campsite with silver froth. It splashed onto Armin's hearth mates, and they cried out joyfully, as though it were the most delicious shower imaginable. 

"Hah!" Jean whooped, circling and grabbing Eren, pulling him close.

"Yes!" Eren laughed, "oh that's so..." His words were cut off as Jean scooped him over one shoulder, spinning around, the glittering froth flying off of their bodies as he spun.

As Armin watched, Jean lowered Eren slowly, allowing his hearth mate to slide down the length of his body, the froth slicking their skin.

They clung together, Eren's arms sliding around Jean's neck, in the dance of the Dragonriders.

Jean grabbed a handful of Eren's hair, tugging back gently to expose the strong neck. His lips found wet flesh, and he nipped, causing Eren to squirm against him.

Then, Eren lowered his head, his wet mouth meeting Jean's hungrily.

The sweet sounds that followed made Armin want to pee, or scream, or both.

Jean's hands cupped Eren's ass, squeezing and holding him close, as their groins rubbed together.

 _I have to stop this...or I have to go to them..or something..._ Armin was panting, his cock tenting the clerc's robe and his legs trembling.

He took a step, and then another.

That was when, out of the darkness, Nile of Eberlon roared into the clearing, spraying it with jets of froth, silver-white spumes which splashed into naked skin. The beat of his wings drowned out the cries of the orgasming boys in the clearing, and the horrified screech of the little clerc, who suddenly found himself covered in dragon froth.

__________

NINE MONTHS LATER

Nile of Eberlon, Dragon Lord of Trost, floated lazily downriver. He'd had a vexing afternoon in Trost, taking the High Seat and wading through the allegations, petitions and lies of the wealthy merchant barons that controlled his city. It wasn't easy being their overlord, and it required a good deal of finesse.

He yawned, the great purple cavern of his mouth exposed to the summer sky.

Turning his head, he caught sight of a fleck of gold on the riverbank. Ah. The bright head of Armin Arlert, Jean's little hearth mate. The wisest clerc to never spend a moment in actual combat.

Nile drifted, green and soundless, closer to the boy. Armin was reading, his blond hair caught up in a string and his grey robe hiked up, exposing his knobby knees to the sun.

"Lovely morning," Nile smirked as the boy gave a startled yelp, scrambling to his feet and bowing.

"Lord Nile! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you!"

"No matter, no matter," the dragon rested his chin on the grassy bank of the river, watching the boy.

"And what are we reading?"

"Well," Armin stammered, holding up the book so that Nile could see the spine, "I'm...well, I reading about eggs. Yes, eggs. N-not for myself, but for Lord Hanje. See?"

"Hmm."

"May...may I ask if Jean is with you?"

"Ah. Nope. Not with me. Swimming."

Jean was, in fact, curled inside of a hollow tree with Eren, end-to-end, suckling on the red bits between Eren's legs with moaning enthusiasm, as the dark-haired rider did the same to him.

"Isn't it better, reading inside of the Cloister?" Nile mused. "No ants and such?"

"No," a vigorous shake of the head. "I-I quite like it here. It's peaceful. At least it was."

Nile sniggered, easing his long head into the water. "Very well then, young sir. Good day."

And he sank beneath the surface.

Nile didn't go far. He waited, in fact, until the young clerc fell asleep, the book sliding off of his chest.

The green dragon slid out of the water, whispering to himself: "Itsy, bitsy bits..."

Soundlessly, he leaned over the sleeping youngster, snagging his robe with one claw, pulling it up slowly.

Nile's instinct had been correct. Somehow, the young clerc was carrying a dragon egg. The mound, hidden by his robe, was the size of a small melon.

"Well, froth me," he marvelled. How in the Nine Realms, and more importantly _why_ , had a clerc become embedded with a dragon egg?

His mouth curled up at the corners, savouring the delicious secret. He knew something that Lady Mikasa did not. That in itself was splendid.

His scaly brow furrowed. He could lie to Mikasa. He could lie to his barons and nobles. He could lie to the High Commander himself. But, he could not lie to his beloved Jean.

__________

The Baath, common enemy of mankind and dragonkin, had managed to nest in the Reach. The nests had hatched, their huge, winged occupants taking to the sky, lacing the fields with larvae, catching and shredding sheep, and villagers.

The battle horn had sounded in the Eyrie, dragons roaring and Dragonriders scrambling to answer the call. Jean, astride Nile, and Eren, riding Mikasa, had flown west, along with a squadron of hacks, smaller lizards that were cousins to the great dragons.

The dragons' fire had seared the infested fields, and the great beasts had hunted down the massive, filthy insects, burning them alive.

It had been a blow to the Reach, and Hanje the Red had remained there, as it was Hanje's Seat, to sort out the mess.

"Go," Hanje had ordered Nile and Mikasa. "This is all just untangling now. Sasha and I will stay," she referred to her spirited rider. "You go home."

"Huh," Eren and Jean bent over a horse trough, laving muck and blood from their faces and arms.

"Want to head back right away? Seeing as we're in the Reach, we could maybe visit the falls? Nile likes the falls."

"No." the green dragon landed on the roof of the stables, with a thud. "We need to get back to the Cloister. And fairly quickly."

"Why?"

"There is something," Nile exhaled, a tendril of dark vapour curling skyward, "something that you need to know. About Armin..."

__________

Curiosity and jealousy had gotten Armin into this mess. He was, however, past the point of reflection, and squatted in his room at Bolenstown Tavern, face buried in the mattress, sobbing in agony.

His guts felt as though they would rip to bits; he'd vomited, and his heart hammered distressingly.

He would die. He would die here, in this small dingy room, blood running down his legs, and the noble creature living inside of him would die, too. A warm, ancient soul that Armin knew only as Mike. _Mike._

"Armin!" someone was shouting. "Ar- _min!"_ It wasn't the spirit voice of Mike. It was Jean, distressed and furious, hammering at the door.

A shattering sound, and a long, green scaly arm crashed through the second floor window.

Moments later, Jean was in the room, picking him up off the floor as he twisted and cried.

Jean leaned out of the window, settling himself into his dragon's saddle, cradling Armin close.

"Go! Go, Nile!" he barked. "Armin hang on...hang on! We're taking you to the Eyrie!"

 

 

 


	2. The Tithe

The Seventh Realm, located in a moderate climate zone east of a great ocean, was originally demarcated by three Walls. These Walls, concentric circles nested according to size, contained a vast territory of river valleys, forested hills and grassland.

Inside of the Walls was that part of the Seventh Realm referred to as the 'old country'. In centuries past, when Baath invaders had swooped in from the southeast, the Walls had provided a stout defense against the walking giants that controlled the flying vermin which seeded the land with disease and decay.

As the Dragon Lords had grown in strength and number, the Baath had receded back into the wetlands from which they had come.

The number of Dragon Lords residing within the Eyrie had grown from three to ten, then to eighteen. Both inside and outside of the Walls, seats of power and protection which had been vacant for centuries, were once again occupied by a Dragon Lord. Each Dragon Lord provided protection to his or her district, arbitrated disputes, and oversaw application of high law. In return for such protection, the Dragon Lord was accorded a tithe.

The yearly tithe consisted of a tax levy, provisions for the Dragon Lord's Eyrie, gifts for his hoarde, and two human supplicants.

These supplicants left their homes and families to become citizens of the Eyrie; joining it's military, it's cloister or it's croft, for a period of seven years. The supplicants went willingly for the most part; it was a great honour to be chosen by a Dragon Lord to dwell among Dragons. If a supplicant was unable or unwilling to complete his tenure, another waited in the wings.

Willingly. For the most part.

__________

**NIGHT OF THE TITHE**

_Shiganshina District_

_Two weeks before Armin Arlert's twelfth birthday._

Shiganshina district bred black Dragons. Perhaps it was due to the rich, fertile black soil of the southern province. Maybe it had to do with the region's ravens; sleek, crafty birds that nested in the high hedgerows which criss-crossed the cultivated countryside. Or perhaps it was the blackberries, heavy on the bushes in fall, stuffed into pies and glass jars.

Whatever the reason, Lord Jeung, fourteenth Dragon Lord of Shiganshina, was as ebony as his forebears; his sleek scales winking purple and blue in the evening light.

Shiganshina proper was built upon rolling hills; it's cobbled streets wound lazily between stout, wooden homes, levelled on stilts and sporting bright lines of laundry.

In just such a home, Eren Jaeger, thirteen years old, lived with his parents. He'd just finished dinner with his family and friends; an occasion marked with laughter and tears, toasts and cuddles which Eren wriggled out of with some annoyance. He was, after all, thirteen years of age; old enough to be a military cadet, and he was to be presented to Lord Jeung, as a tithe offering.

He stood by his narrow bed, his pack open, shoving into it the few things he thought he'd need, should he be taken away this night to begin a new life as a ward of the Eyrie.

Sitting on Eren's bed, legs drawn up to his chest, was Armin Arlert, a small slice of a boy in a blue wool jacket and brown shoes.

"Lord Jeung will choose you," Armin said quietly, "of course he will. Anyone would..." and he looked up at the person he was closest to in all of the Nine Realms.

Eren plucked a little wooden dragon toy off of his bedside shelf, turning it over in his hand.

"Your Grandpa made this for me," he said to Armin. "A black Shiganshina dragon. One day," the green eyes glowed, "I am going to be a dragonrider!"

Armin watched Eren for a long moment.

"Don't fall off," he replied.

__________

Eren fervently hoped that his mother, Carla, would just let go of his hand before they got to the Tithing Ground. He didn't have the heart to squirm away from her, however; her lively eyes danced and she kissed him repeatedly. "You aren't a parent," she smiled proudly through her tears, "you can't understand."

"I'll be back," Eren rolled his eyes. "It's not like I'm gone forever, mum."

His father, Grisha, laid a hand on his shoulder. "If this year isn't the year," he buffered his son's possible disappointment, "there is always next year."

Armin walked along at Eren's side,  loneliness already settled into his belly like a too-heavy soup. He said nothing however; to do so would have been selfish. Eren was on the verge of realizing a dream, and Armin wasn't about to ruin it.

"I'll be back for you," Eren had sworn, "and together, we will see the ocean!"

Armin's grandfather, Petr, joined the group of townspeople trooping toward the Tithing Ground.

"How was your dinner with Eren?" he took his grandson by the hand. Armin only shrugged. His grandfather coughed, pulling a handkerchief out of his jacket to blow his nose.

The Tithing Ground, a field at the edge of town, was bordered by dragon stones, as old as time. It was said that the stones had ears; they could hear the whispers of man. Eren had lain facedown on the capstone year after year, swearing to it that he, Eren Jaeger, would become the strongest dragonrider in the Nine Realms.

Armin Arlert wasn't sure whether or not the stones could hear him, but he himself often sat, cheek turned against the stone, asking just that Eren be kept safe.

The Tithing Festival had lasted a fortnight; Lord Jeung and his rider Hannes had come to Shiganshina, and along with them a wagon load of masons and smiths, and they'd set about repairing the homes and storehouses of the district for winter. A flight of hacks - smaller, feathered cousins to the dragons - had arrived. These winged creatures had raked the fields, helped with the harvest, and moved goods to market on behalf of the farmers in large baskets that they gripped in their talons.

It had been a good year.

The wealthiest families in the district presented offerings to Lord Jeung; he hoarded silver, for which he had a passion. Coins and plates, chains and chalices.

As the old laws required, in return for the hoarde gifts, he brought goods to trade from outside of Shiganshina; sacks of dried mountain beans, fruit, steel farm implements, silks and seeds.

Now, as the sun set on the last evening of the festival, torches were lit around the ancient dragon stones.

Lord Jeung alighted in the middle of the field, his rider, Hannes, sliding from his back to welcome the townsfolk.

The town's bell tower struck then, three times.

"Tithe!" declared the Dragon Lord, sending a ripple of awe through the crowd.

Two young women stepped forward. Then, a youth of about seventeen. And finally, with a final hug from his parents, young Eren Jaeger.

"Tithe!" declared the Dragon Lord again. His eyes, dark and keen, surveyed the assembly. His long, graceful neck arched as he lowered his head to get a closer look.

Hannes, a veteran dragonrider, walked the perimeter of the circle, heavy leathers smelling of salt sweat, and dreams.

Eren quivered with excitement, clutching his pack to his chest. He stretched to his full height, inching forward, just a little. He looked, not at Hannes, but directly at Lord Jeung who loomed above the villagers like a great, glistening god.

Hannes stopped before one of the girls. She bobbed her head, hopefully. He walked on.

Hannes then approached Eren Jaeger.

_Ah, Yes, Eren._

His father was a doctor, and Hannes was acquainted with him. The boy, tall for his age and fierce, met his gaze directly.

Hannes reached for the boy's hand, turning it over, seeming to study the lines in his palm. He looked back over his shoulder at Lord Jeung. An unspoken message seemed to pass between them. Hannes raised Eren's hand high, shouting out, "Tithe!"

One of the two supplicants had been chosen. The crowd applauded and whooped, cherry crackers sizzling into the air.

Armin beamed, delight for his friend suffusing his disappointment at their parting.

"Tithe!" Hannes called again, encouraging any other supplicants to step forward.

That was when Armin felt it. A firm shove, between his bony shoulder blades.

He grunted, surprise rooting his feet to the spot, even as his body spilled forward. He landed in a heap on the ground.

Eyes wide, he craned to look up at his grandfather, who had shoved him.

The elderly man, in his urgency, had pushed the small boy too hard, and he bent immediately, gathering the child to him.

"Armin," his voice was thick, and he was shaking. "I'm sorry. Now...up you get. Stand up. There we are..." he turned the boy gently but firmly, to face Lord Jeung.

"Tithe here!" he called.

"Grandpa!" screeched Armin, struggling vainly in his grandfather's grasp. "Grandpa!"

"Tithe!"

Petr Arlert knelt then, turning the child to face him. Tears tracked down his worn face.

"By the froth and spore, I almost don't have the courage to let you go," he whispered. "Armin...dear Armin, you know that I'm not well. And the truth is, I won't get any better...now, you must listen to me..."

"No!"

"Listen to me, Armin...you won't be safe here, once I'm gone. You must go with Hannes..."

"No! _Why?_ Just stop this!!"

Armin's heart hammered, tears of panic welling in the blue eyes. "Grandpa, just stop!"

But his Grandpa had stood again, without releasing his hold on Armin.

 _"Jeung-ka!"_ he addressed the Dragon Lord directly, "Remember your promise to me!"

A long, charged moment passed, Armin squirmed, chest heaving. Eren gaped at them, incredulous. Hannes considering the small boy, running a hand through his blond beard.

The Dragon nodded his majestic ebony head.

_Yes. That one._

"I won't leave you," Armin wailed. "Who will take care of you?"

Petr hugged him close. He removed his leather hat, placing it onto his grandson's pale hair, tightening the chinstrap. "I want you to go with Hannes, now. No more tears. That's a good boy..."

Hannes picked the children up, striding toward the Dragon, Eren riding high on his shoulder, fist raised in victory, and Armin sobbing inconsolably.

That had been Armin's first flight. Hannes had fastened each of the boys securely into a travelling basket. Armin had quieted, eyes huge and full of wonder. Then, Lord Jeung shifted and began to lope along the ground. It was like riding in a wagon at first, until the town of Shiganshina wheeled far below, the frosty sky whistling through the slats of the sturdy travelling basket.

Petr Arlert had died that winter, wracked with cough but at peace, knowing that Armin was safe at the Eyrie's Cloister. Jeung-ka had, after all, been Petr's hatchling. Before pairing with Hannes, he'd been Petr Arlert's dragon, and he had kept his promise to the old man that farmed radishes in Shiganshina, and had once been a dragonrider in the Baath wars.

__________

**PRESENT DAY**

Armin's second flight was undertaken nearly seven years to the day after he'd been carried off to the Eyrie. Rather than being strapped into a basket, he was held tight against Jean's chest, unconscious, on the back of Nile of Eberlon, Lord of Trost.

Waking, in a makeshift nest inside of Nile's lair, was surreal. His body buzzed, weightless. He couldn't feel his legs, nor his belly. He gasped for breath, eyes blinking open, unseeing.

"Armin..."

He tried to speak, and found he could not.

"Armin, look at me." A gentle, warm voice. It belonged to Edou, the healer.

"Edou," he croaked, "Edou, my egg..."

Jean's face hovered over him then, white with fear.

"Armin! Armin, you're going to be okay..." Jean's raspy voice held a thin note of panic, which alarmed Armin.

Something was being held to his lips. "Armin, drink it." Edou ordered softly.

Armin tried, but the thick liquid seemed to congeal in his throat. He shook his head, gagging, and spit up.

Someone wiped his face.

"Armin, this has to get through your belly to the egg, honey," Edou prodded gently. "Try again."

Armin forced himself to swallow, retching, his heart hammering unevenly.

Then Eren was there, forcing his way past Edou, bending over him, crying.

"Eren," he croaked. _Why would no one listen?_ "Eren, my _egg_..."

Edou said something then, and Armin's two hearth mates withdrew.

Silence. Then, a sonorous, calming tone. A birthing bowl, filled with liquid was being played by one of the healers.

"Listen, Armin. Listen to the tone. You hear it?"

Armin gasped for air.

"Breathe slowly," the healer placed her hands on his face.

_The egg! Please Edou, the Dragon!_

Edou's orange robe and headdress swam before his eyes.

"Just listen to the tone, Armin. Breathe."

_Edou, please don't let Mike die!_

"There....there we are."

Edo placed a hand onto Armin's small belly, now distended and engorged with froth, his body elastic and pliant.

"Here we go," the healer soothed. "It's turned. Here we go."

__________

The most horrifying hour of Eren Jaeger's life was spent, banished to the wall inside of Lord Nile's lair, watching from a distance as his Armin nearly bled to death, trying to expel a dragon egg.

Edou, the master healer, and her medics bent over their small charge, the air resonant with the tones from the birthing bowls which would call forth the egg.

Armin's small, white legs were splayed, striped with blood, toes curling helplessly in spasm.

Eren wept, dashing at his eyes, panic and rage rising in his chest.

While Jean had gone to Bolenstown in search of Armin, Eren and Mikasa had flown to Highswallow, coming back to the Eyrie empty-handed.

"Why," Eren croaked, voice thick with anger, "I don't understand...who....who would _do_ this to him?"

"Ssssh!" Jean was all but pinning Eren to the wall. "We have to stay here. Keep quiet, and let Edou work. You and I know better than anyone..."

But Eren only shook his head. "Are they sure that's a...a dragon egg in his belly? Maybe he's sick? Is it a growth?" he cried miserably. "Jean?"

There was no response.

"Jean!" he shoved his hearth mate, seeking an answer.

Jean's face was set, grim and resigned. His sharp eyes fixed on Armin, and then on Lord Nile.

Eren studied Jean's face, realization dawning.

His mouth fell open, eyes widening. "You...you _knew_ about this? Oh...oh, no! _Please tell me you didn't allow this to happen!"_

Jean did look at Eren then, face a mask of contrition and sorrow.

"Oh, gods!" Eren shoved Jean off of him with both hands. "What...." he glared at Lord Nile, then back at Jean, "What have you two done!"

"Ssssh!" the healers admonished.

Jean reached out a hand to touch Eren's shoulder; Eren smacked it away, eyes trained on the small, writhing figure in the birthing nest.

Then, Armin's body spasmed, and collapsed. The egg was expelled into Edou's hands. She wrapped it securely, and her team closed in on Armin, holding him still.

"Lord Nile," Edou motioned, "my Lord, you are needed over here!"

"No," Eren roared, "Get away!" He blocked the green dragon's way to the nest.

"Eren," Nile said evenly.

"No! If a dragon is needed, open the door for Mikasa! Let her in!"

"No."

"Yes! I wonder what the Lord Commander might have to say about this!" Eren drew his blade.

Nile placed a foot onto the floor, moving forward slowly.

Eren swung, the blade glancing off of Nile's scales.

"Ouch."

"Leave Armin alone!"

"Eren, hear me now. Armin is a clerc, who has just hosted a high dragon egg. Whatever the circumstances of his impregnation, he's done so without the consent or knowledge of our Queen, endangering himself, and endangering a Lord of the Realm.

We are his friends, but there are those inside of this Eyrie that do not trust clercs, chief among them Ymir, Captain of the Queen's guard. As you also know, the black rider will put the interests of this Eyrie well ahead of Armin's wellbeing. So,"

Nile took another step, as Eren lowered his blade.

"I suggest that you let me attend to Armin; and further, that you save the Lady Mikasa blameless. She has the Queen's ear, as do you, which is an advantage that should be preserved. I think that cooler heads are the order of the day, here. We will speak to the Lord Commander later on. Do we understand one another?"

 Eren said nothing, but stood aside.

Lord Nile approached the nest, huge head bent over the small figure. His citrine eyes whirled, then shut, and his throat rose and fell as he disgorged a quantity of silvery froth onto Armin.

"Cut him open," he said softly to the healer, "and sew him up properly, Edou."

__________

A hundred thousand eyes winked at Armin, out of the darkness. No, not eyes. The torchlight winked off of Lord Nile's hoarde. Coins: gold, silver and bronze. He lay, deep inside a nest of sheepskins and straw, in the darkened lair of the Lord of Trost.

Clutched against his bruised belly, wrapped in his arms, was a dragon egg. It was golden-bronze in colour, veined with sky-blue. It pulsed.

Armin had birthed his dragon egg. Mike was inside, sleeping, and would remain so for a number of weeks. By some miracle, Armin himself was alive, to cradle the precious egg.

Nothing else in all the world mattered.

He shifted. "Ow," he whimpered softly.

A shape shifted in the darkness. Familiar....Eren.

Eren lay in the nest as well, on the other side of the new bronze egg, watching Armin in the dim light.

Armin was too spent, too sore to explain himself. There were no words.

Eren reached out a hand, softly tracing Armin's forehead, his cheeks. Armin closed his eyes. Eren stroked his hair, murmuring to him.

Armin opened his eyes again, watching Eren. The tawny cheeks were bright with tears.

"Don't cry," Armin croaked.

Eren leaned over then, his soft lips placing a kiss onto Armin's forehead. He kissed the round cheeks, the small nose. He kissed the closed eyes, with their purple bruises beneath.

Finally, he kissed the small mouth softly.

"I will never," he whispered against the cracked lips, "I will never let anyone hurt you again."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
